


going's all we know

by greenery



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Camping, Gen, OC backstory, Red Dead Online - Freeform, Storytelling, basically i just wanted a more creative way to write eli's backstory than just bullet points
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26733574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenery/pseuds/greenery
Summary: Tall Trees is no place to be, let alone to set up camp for the night, but they can't keep on going through the night, not again.Or, how a strange encounter in one of the map's most cursed locations forces Eli to reflect on his past.
Kudos: 5





	going's all we know

**Author's Note:**

> idk man. this is the result of two days without wifi.

When the rain finally stops, Eli halts his horse with an almost-whispered  _ ho!  _ and even that sounds too loud, too harsh in the eerily quiet forest, still recovering from what must have been almost two days of torrential rain. He stows the metal detector away - nothing good comes from these woods anyway - and lets the scent of damp moss and earth fill his lungs. As tiring as the last days have been, he feels oddly clean, with the travel’s dirt and dust washed away from his coat, and replaced with a frigid dampness. Clean, but soaked through. His undershirt and pants cling to his bones, and if he can’t get a fire started soon, he’s guaranteed to catch a cold.

But Tall Trees is no place to be, let alone to set up camp for the night. His skewbald mare nickers quietly, she can sense it too, and for the last few years Eli has usually trusted her judgement. Still, today her complaints are of no use. There’s no way they can keep on going through the night, not again. It’s almost dark now, and so he dismounts with a sigh. This clearing’s as good a spot as any. Eli likes the smell of rain in the forest and the soft  _ drip drip drip _ of the last drops hitting the pine needle covered ground. He doesn’t like the long shadows the enormous trees cast and the way they seem to swallow up most sounds. He doubts he’d hear anyone sneaking up on him from behind before it’s too late. Stomach already twisting, he hitches Pepper to one of the more slender trees and sets up camp like he’s done a thousand times and more: tent, clothesline and bedroll are the easy parts, then tending to Pepper, then the fire. Dry enough twigs and shrubs are near impossible to find, but somehow he manages, like he always seems to do. When the flames finally crackle, he hangs up his clothes to dry and changes into a new set that isn’t nearly as wet as the prior one. It’s the little things, he thinks, piece of salted meat in one hand, and feet so close to the fire the heat is almost too much. He really can’t afford to lose another pair of good, woolen socks, but it just feels so  _ good _ .

“You alright, Pepper?” he breaks the forest’s eerie silence between two mouthfulls of dry meat.

She punishes him with silence, still upset for having to spend the night amidst countless potential predators. With his free hand, Eli abent-mindedly strokes the barrel of the rifle to his right. “Y’know, I’m more worried about the Skinner Brothers than a pack of wolves. At least the wolves would make it quick.”

“There’s wisdom in that.”

Within a split second, Eli is on his feet, rifle at the ready, aiming blindly into the darkness from where he thinks he’s heard the raspy, bodiless voice, even though it could be any other direction just as much if he’s being honest. “Who’s there?” he calls, voice shaking only slightly, it’s the little things, ain’t it? “Show yourself!”

And really, a dark figure emerges from the flickering shadows between the trees, empty hands raised as if in surrender. A woman. No horse, only a duffel bag flung over her broad shoulders. Her raspy voice again, “I mean you no harm, boy.”

“What do you want, then?” Without lowering the gun, he slowly makes his way around the fire, taking a closer look at the visitor. She must be around 40 or 50, but it’s hard to tell with her face weathered and leathery as it is, and her greying hair in an umkempt braid. Her clothes must have been fine once, but now only rags prevail — a linen blouse and corduroy pants beneath a threadbare dustcoat. Her boots don’t fit the image, the leather still shiny and new, or at least well taken care of. Her hands look calloused and rough like a working man’s, but Eli’s gaze doesn’t linger long and soon returns to her face, her eyes, dark and honest, they remind him of someone, someplace, long forgotten—

“You never seen a lady before, boy?” There’s a smirk in her voice and Eli takes a step back, looks everywhere but her face, as if caught red-handed.

“It’s okay, it’s good to be cautious. But if you’re a bounty hunter, I’m afraid you won’t recognize my face from any ‘Wanted’ poster.”

“I’m not.” Eli says and finally lowers the rifle despite every fibre of his body screaming at him to not let his guard down so easily, again.

She nods. “Good. Mind if I sit down for a minute? It’s been quite a day, huh?”

“Sure,” he agrees, meaning to only refer to her statement about the day, but she’s already crouched down, her hands lifted up to be warmed by the fire, her face illuminated with dancing shadows.

What a strange day indeed.

For a few moments there’s only the crackling of the fire to be heard, and then the woman asks, “You don’t talk much, do you?” Not even waiting for an answer, she adds, “Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes.”

She hands him a cigarette, a peace offer no doubt, and takes one herself. They smoke quietly, none of them willing to disturb the strange unspoken truce between them. It’s the first smoke Eli has had in a while, and he takes it all in, lets his upper body slouch, more relaxed, braver. Dares to ask, finally: “What’s your name?”

“Sally. Sally Langdon. You?”

“Elijah.”

“That’s it?”

He flicks the cigarette butt into the embers. “That’s it.”

“What’s your story, Elijah?” Genuine curiosity in her too-familiar eyes.

“That what you are? A collector of stories?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” He stands and walks over to the tent, returning with a half-empty bottle of whiskey. When he tosses it across the fireplace, Sally catches it straight-faced.

“Thanks for the cigarette,” Eli says and she winks and raises the bottle to him, now sitting cross-legged, like a girl awaiting a grandfather’s tall tale.

Eli’s tale is not tall, it’s ordinary. A story that belongs to thousands out here, men as women, the differences only in the details. He sits and clears his throat.

“We had a dog, Sammy. A mule, a wagon. A little house, though seeing it today, I’d probably call it a shack. Still, it was home. Mum, dad, me, two sisters. My father was a coffin maker.”

“A safe profession,” she interrupts already, eyebrows raised.

“It’s confined. The pay is low, folk treat you like an outcast.”

“And they don’t treat you like one now? Where’d you get that scar, Elijah?”

“Can’t recall,” he lies, “Whole night’s a blur.” She doesn’t need to know about Ned. “Anyway, my father died. Cholera took him. Spared the rest of us for some strange reason. I was ten and went to work at the railroad tracks. The girls still too young to work, so Mum had to … well. Didn’t take long until she fell pregnant. My half brother was born still and took her with him.”

He watches Sally. There’s no surprise on her face, no sympathy and no disgust. Just a neutral expression of understanding. This type of story ain’t exclusive to him, it would be ignorant to think so.

“The orphanage was hell,” he continues, fiddling with his shirt sleeve. “The people working there were nice enough, I guess we could even be considered lucky. But I only felt trapped. I raged. Don’t know how I managed to stay for four years, but I did. Then one night I promised my sisters I’d come and get them later, stole a visitor’s horse, and gone I was. Fourteen, but felt ready to take on the world.” A bitter chuckle. Sally hands him the bottle and he takes a sip, it burns good, warms his throat and belly. “I went west. Heard word of some gold still left in the hills. Lies, of course. Went back east. A couple jobs here and there, fell in with some gangs, but never for long.”

“Why not?” Sally asks, “A group means safety.”

“Not always. I guess I prefer to work alone.”

“What about your sisters?”

He blushes, suddenly grateful for the dark. “I never went back. Always told myself  _ When I have more money, when I have more money _ . I could have never provided for them. Hell, they’re probably married by now and better off than I am.”

She nods, though this time without understanding.

“I could barely keep myself fed,” Eli justifies.

Sally raises those dark brows again, turns to the right. “That’s a real fine horse. Must have cost quite a bit,” she says and for the first time, Eli wishes she would leave.

“It’s different now,” he says, voice small.

“What’s different? What’re you doing now?”

“This and that. I mainly work for a woman who collects all sorts of trinkets - jewellery, rare bird’s eggs, sometimes fossils and the like. I search and sell it all to her. It’s easy money.”

“Don’t you ever want to go back and look for them?”

He swallows. “I— I feel like it’s too late now. Couldn’t stand the accusations. And besides, it was thirteen years ago. I couldn’t come barging into their lives like that.”

Sally is finally quiet, and now the forest seems to wake at last: a rustling in the treetops, an owl’s haunting call, and somewhere in the distance a lone wolf’s lament.  _ What about you _ , Eli wants to ask Sally, but doesn’t dare. Her silence makes him anxious, though it shouldn’t. He takes another slug of whiskey and goes on, “I was in prison for a while, for something I didn’t do. Been more or less on the run ever since. When I was a boy, I fantasized about being an outlaw - coming from nowhere, going nowhere. Taking only from the rich. Without a worry, but a hefty prize on my head.”

“That’s not what it’s like,” she says with a voice full of untold stories.

“No. It ain’t. But the freedom—it’s like I’ve always imagined. Just me and the horse and the sky and the hills. Going east, west, no matter. When I want to rest, I rest, when I need money, I search for Madam Nazar. It’s not glamorous, but it’s easy.”

“I envy you.”

But there is only pity in her piercing gaze. Eli shifts uneasily and shrugs. Wants to say something, but the wind suddenly turns, blowing a cloud of smoke into his face, and all he manages is a dry coughing fit.

Barely hiding her amusement, Sally gets up with a groan and conjures a carrot from her pocket that she promptly feeds to Pepper. With a pang of jealousy, Eli sees that his mare accepts it gladly and leans in closer to the strange woman, begging for more. To no avail. “It was good to meet you, Elijah. Thank you for your story. And take good care of that horse, she’s a stunner.”

As quickly as it had released her a mere twenty minutes ago, the forest swallows her up again. She didn’t wait for an answer. No traces remain, except for some churned up pine needles next to the fire, and Eli wonders if he has seen a ghost for the first time in his life. Maybe what they say about Tall Trees is true after all. Silently he curses himself and contemplates emptying the bottle.

He should have asked.

_ What about you? _

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos and comments are of course appreciated <3


End file.
